


Pasta Aisle

by cypress_tree



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Kaiju, First Meetings, Grocery Shopping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4181502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypress_tree/pseuds/cypress_tree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann and Newt meet for the first time in a grocery store.  Hermann helps Newt grab something off a high shelf.  Newt takes offense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pasta Aisle

**Author's Note:**

> another shopping-themed fic for [bee,](http://geniusbee.tumblr.com/) who started this whole thing to begin with~~

Hermann is a firm believer that the best time to go grocery shopping is at 8pm on Friday night. At 8pm on Friday night, everyone is either at home or out with friends. They’re either in for the night or they’re out having fun, but they’re definitely not thinking about groceries.

Tonight, it’s an average Friday. Hermann takes his time selecting produce, pleased with the peace and quiet of the grocery store. He rolls his shopping cart towards the aisles and peruses shelf after shelf of spices, snacks, and non-perishables.

When he turns the corner into the pasta aisle, Hermann sees something strange. There’s someone lurking at the other end, and as soon as Hermann comes into view, the man darts away from the shelves in front of him and immediately busies himself on his phone.

Hermann narrows his eyes. He rolls his cart closer and finds the brand of pasta he’s looking for, then stands there, trying to decide which kinds to buy. The man with the phone sighs, sounding slightly irritated. Hermann looks up from a box of rigatoni, and they make eye contact. Neither of them say anything. Hermann selects his pasta, rolls his cart past the stranger, and moves along to the next aisle.

Hermann has barely rounded the endcap display when he hears a series of crashes and a stage-whispered “ _shit_.” He turns back around, more out of curiosity than concern, and finds that the man in the pasta aisle is on the floor, surrounded by boxes of macaroni.

“Are you alright?” Hermann asks, trying to hide a smirk.

“I’m fine, I just—” The man looks quickly at the boxes around him. “Dammit.”

There’s something on the ground by Hermann’s feet. He picks it up to find that it’s a clip-on ID badge from a nearby marine biology lab. Hermann raises an eyebrow.

“Dr. Geiszler, I presume?”

“Newt.” Newt takes the ID from Hermann’s hand with a brief “thanks,” then starts picking up the boxes on the floor all around him. Hermann watches with amusement.

“What were you doing?” he asks.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t, particularly.”

Newt snorts, placing the boxes back where they belong. “Then I don’t need to answer that.” He straightens each box so that they’re all in a neat row. Hermann gives him a surprised look, and Newt shrugs, sheepishly.

“My uncle used to stock shelves,” he says. “It’s a shitty enough job without me making a mess.”

Hermann gives Newt a quick glance-over, reconsidering his less-than positive first impression. Newt has a scruffy face, but boyish features. His hair is artfully tangled, and his leather jacket is worn around the seams. Hermann can’t help but notice that Newt isn’t wearing a wedding ring. He looks away, chastising himself for checking.

When Newt glances at the shelf in front of him, Hermann realizes what he was after. There’s a box of Easy Mac all the way up, pushed towards the back. Newt is a bit too short to get at it, but for Hermann, it should be just within reach. He stretches up, snags the box between two fingers, and hands it to Newt.

Hermann expects to be thanked—maybe to see Newt smile. On both accounts, he is very wrong. Newt gapes at Hermann as if Hermann has just committed the worst atrocity known to mankind.

“What the hell was that for?” he asks.

Hermann frowns. “You were having trouble?”

“I had it under control.” Newt snatches the box from Hermann’s grip and throws it back onto the shelf. Hermann is stunned.

“Are you a _child?_ ” he asks.

“I can get it myself.” The box is much farther back, now—Hermann’s not sure even he would be able to reach it this time. Newt cranes his neck to look, but has to stand on his toes to be able to see.

“I hope you’re happy,” Hermann says, dryly. Newt puts one foot on the bottom shelf. “You’re going to knock everything down, if you do that. You see, there's this thing called _gravity_ —”

“Ha ha, very funny." Newt rolls his eyes. "You’re talking to a _scientist_.”

“Well, you’re a marine biologist, so this isn’t exactly your area of expertise.”

“Oh, and I suppose you work for NASA?”

Hermann stands up a little straighter. “Well as a matter of fact…” He flashes the NASA employee ID in his pocket.

“No shit?” Newt asks. He stares at Hermann, then gives him a quick look up and down. Just as Hermann is beginning to feel flattered, Newt adds, “I had you pegged for a high school math teacher.”

Hermann frowns. Newt gives him a teasing wink, then lifts himself up as the shelf starts to wobble.

“You’re going to make a mess,” Hermann warns.

“I’ll clean it up.” Newt stabilizes himself, and several boxes of pasta fall to the ground. He seems to be having trouble balancing, so Hermann comes up behind him and puts one hand on Newt’s back. Newt reaches up to the shelf, swiping his arm across its surface and sending the box of Easy Mac flying onto the floor behind them.

“Brilliant,” Hermann mutters.

Newt climbs down, picks up the fallen boxes, and places everything back on the shelves. He stretches his arm and massages his shoulder with a grimace.

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with accepting help when you need it,” Hermann says.

Newt snorts. “Yeah, that’s what my therapist tells me.”

Hermann wants to say “ _mine too_ ,” but he isn’t sure if Newt is joking or not. Instead, he kicks the box of Easy Mac across the floor and towards Newt’s feet.

“So what do you do for NASA?” Newt asks.

Hermann feels a swell of pride. “I work in aerospace engineering," he says.

“Building spaceships and stuff?"

"Mmm, yes, but it's not as glamorous as I'm sure you're imagining. I mainly work with computers."

Newt smiles. “That's cool, though."

"It is. I enjoy it." Their eyes meet, and they both look away. Hermann doesn't want the conversation to end, so he adds, "What sort of marine life do you study?"

Newt lights up. "Invertebrates! Starfish, jellies, crustaceans. If you wanna take a walk over to the seafood department, I can tell you all about the lobsters.”

Hermann gives a nervous smile, unsure if Newt really means this.

“Basically, I spend a lot of time splashing around in tide pools. Which is why I have sand in my pants right now.”

“You have sand in your….”

Newt turns bright red. “No, not like _in_ my pants, but I mean—in the cuffs of my pants.” He kicks at his ankle, sprinkling sand onto the linoleum. “It gets in there when I’m on the beach. People in the lab complain because it makes the floor all gritty, and—okay, never mind, I’m gonna shut up now.” He runs a nervous hand through his hair, his blush beginning to fade. “Anyway, thanks for helping. I was really craving Easy Mac.”

Newt gives a wavery smile, and Hermann’s heart flutters.

“Well,” Hermann says. “You’re welcome. Though—you must admit, there was nothing _Easy_ about that ordeal.”

Newt is silent, and Hermann regrets himself almost immediately. _That was a bad joke_ , he thinks. _That was a terrible, awkward, poorly-delivered joke, and now_ —

“Could I get your number?”

Hermann looks up from his shoes to find that Newt is staring at him with a sort of wonderstruck awe.

“Uh—sorry,” Newt says quickly, blinking and taking a step away. “That was—I just met you, and I don’t even know if you’re—”

“Yes,” Hermann says. “Yes, you may.”

Newt grins. He pulls his phone from his back pocket, then curses. “Shit, it’s dead. Um—hold on, I’ve got a pen.” He pats nearly every pocket on his body, finally producing a pen from inside of his jacket. He pushes up his sleeve to bare a heavily tattooed arm. Hermann swallows.

“Just write it here, between the tentacles,” Newt says, pointing to a large jellyfish inked onto his skin. “I do it all the time. It’s like a notepad.”

Hermann hesitates, but Newt appears to be serious. He passes the pen to Hermann. Hermann tucks his cane under one arm and holds Newt still, trying not to act as flustered as he feels. He thinks for a moment that his own phone is fully charged, and in his left trouser pocket. It would be easier for him to get Newt’s number, instead, but he doesn’t suggest this. He likes the way the pen tugs at the colors of Newt's tattoo.

When Hermann is done, Newt reads the number aloud for confirmation. Hermann nods.

“Awesome,” Newt says. “So uh—I’ll call you, definitely. We can get coffee or something. Just gotta remember to get your number in my phone before I wash it off in the shower.”

Hermann smirks. “Please don’t forget.”

“No, I won’t, I won’t!” Newt smiles like he’s going to burst. He picks up the shopping basket at his feet and swings it back and forth. “But I mean, if I do, I’ll know where to find you, right?”

“I shop on Fridays at 8:00,” Hermann says.

“Okay, I just kinda shop whenever.”

“Well I hope to hear from you before then.”

“You totally will.”

They smile at each other awkwardly, then Hermann nods a goodbye and turns his cart around. He looks over his shoulder as he heads into the next aisle, and sees Newt watching him leave. Newt jumps a little, then waves and hurriedly walks in the other direction.

It’s only when Hermann is standing in line to check out that he realizes—he forgot to give Newt his name.


End file.
